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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23708887">Intersect</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiigi/pseuds/tiigi'>tiigi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Chuck AU, Explicit Sexual Content, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Telekinesis, Telepathy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 20:34:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,597</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23708887</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiigi/pseuds/tiigi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m going to explain everything to you,” Robert says. “But you’re going to need to stay quiet, and stay calm until I’ve finished. I know this might sound strange, but trust me, Bill. I’m the safest bet you’ve got.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bill Denbrough/Pennywise, Bill Denbrough/Robert "Bob" Gray</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>92</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsbbell/gifts">itsbbell</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Forever grateful for our friendship :’) &lt;3</p><p>So I just finished reading Doctor Sleep and maybe am a little bit obsessed hhh, and I wanted to write a Chuck AU for ages so here are the two things combined! Chuck is basically about a normal guy who gets sent an email with encoded CIA secrets which then self destructs and he’s the only one that knows them. I chose to add telepathy and telekinesis thanks to stephen king (and also tried to steal his writing style lmao)</p><p>Hope you enjoy! &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Bill wakes up on the floor, with a thudding headache and a dry mouth. In between the pain, the grogginess and the confusion, the irony of his situation completely escapes him.</span>
</p><p>Bill has been drunk before. He’s in college, so parties and drinking and getting wasted are all unavoidable experiences, but he’s never had a hangover that feels like this before. This is worse than anything he’s ever felt. He narrows his eyes to slits because the dim light of his dorm room feels like it’s burning, and when he tries to stand up his legs are so weak that he stumbles. It’s typical that he blacks out on the one night he actually stayed in to study.</p><p>And then a memory flickers behind his eyes, just a sliver of action. Did he really pass out? No… there was an email. He remembers opening his laptop to an email and the next thing he knows, he’s waking up with his face against the floor. What the hell happened?</p><p>It’s torture to drag himself across the room without so much as an aspirin to take the pain away, but somehow he manages to get to the bed where his laptop lays abandoned. It feels as though someone has taken a hammer to the back of his skull. All his thoughts are tangible, escaping. Every noise from outside, from next door, from down the hall all feel like a cacophony of deafening screams inside his head. Bill might throw up if things don’t quieten soon.</p><p>The brightness of the screen is almost too much for Bill, and he swallows back the urge to retch. He probably picked up some virus from someone in his class, but he felt completely fine yesterday. Then he got a random email from an unknown sender and suddenly he’s out cold. Bill knows rationally that there can’t be any correlation, but it still seems suspicious. He opens his email account with growing trepidation.</p><p>There’s nothing there. Bill blinks, frowns, refreshes the page, but nothing works. The last email he received was from his professor, agreeing to extend the deadline for his assignment. There’s nothing in his inbox or his junk mail, no sign of it in the deleted folder. Did he imagine it? No, he remembers the notification, remembers the confusion he felt when he opened it. What was in that email? Maybe he should–</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>fuck I’m so late he’s gonna kill me I should never have–</span>
  </em>
</p><p>Bill jerks backwards so quickly that his head gives another painful throb in protest. His heart is pounding in his chest and he’s so shaken up that goosebumps prickle his skin. That wasn’t his thought. Whatever he just heard in his head, it wasn’t someone else. </p><p>He must be losing his mind if he’s actually worried about having someone else in his head, but the thought really did seem to spring from nowhere. He didn’t hear it so much as see it, see the words flash in front of him like they’d been lit up on a screen. Hell, maybe he is hungover if he’s creating some sort of telepathic fantasy for himself from nothing but a broken thought and a headache. It just felt weird, is all.</p><p>When Bill checks his phone, though, he realises he is going to be late. He has a lecture in just over ten minutes and he’s nowhere near ready to leave. He’ll have to skip a shower, and breakfast, and possibly even changing out of his pyjamas if it means he can get a painkiller. There’s no way he’ll be able to focus on what his professor is saying if it still feels like someone is drilling a whole inside his brain.</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>my key shit where did I–</span>
  </em>
</p><p>Bill doubles over and gasps for breath. He’s still clueless as to where the thoughts are coming from, because it’s certainly not from him. It’s not possible to hear other people’s thoughts but Bill knows he’s not imagining this. </p><p>Whatever. He doesn’t have time to worry about this now and maybe, if he goes about his day as normal, the problem will resolve itself. He’s not in his right mind and maybe this is all just an effect of a bad flu. He shouldn’t panic - at least, not about this. About missing the first half of his class, maybe.</p><p>Which is exactly what happens. The journey to his lecture hall is a nightmare with his head hurting like it is. It’s a nice enough day outside and maybe Bill would be more inclined to enjoy the warm weather if he wasn’t fighting to stay conscious. Despite skipping a meal and a shower, he still arrives twenty minutes late to his class and he waits a moment longer outside the door, soaking in the sunshine with his head tilted back, in some vain attempt to make himself feel better. </p><p>It doesn’t work, obviously. </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>–not been listening? Do I need to repeat myself for-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill inhales sharply and pinches the bridge of his nose. He can’t stand around any longer pretending to be sane whilst other people’s thoughts run through his head like flashes on a projection. Bill’s limbs jerk forward and he leans against the stiff door, wishing his college used some of their funds to actually repair their shitty buildings. He’s never been able to get this door to budge without straining and he just wishes everything would stop being so </span>
  <em>
    <span>difficult.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>Bill gasps and stumbles forward, startled by the sudden lack of support. The door swings open easily, like it isn’t far too heavy for Bill alone to push. He blinks, surprised and faced with his whole lecture hall staring at him, probably glad for the interruption. Bill’s professor lowers his glasses and levels him with a spine chilling glare. Bill gulps.</p><p>“Mr Denbrough,” he says, squinting. “So nice of you to join us. Do you need a minute?”</p><p>Bill is about to apologise and take his seat as normal when something warm and wet tickles his upper lip. When he wets his lips, he tastes copper on his tongue. His hand, when he uses it to wipe his mouth, comes away stained red with blood. Bill hasn’t had a nosebleed in years, so long that he can’t even remember the last time, and with everything going on at the moment it freaks him out.</p><p>“No,” he says distractedly, holding his sleeve to his nose. “Sorry.”</p><p>
  <span>He ignores the stares and whispers as he heads inside, pushing past people to get to an empty seat. Instead of improving with time, his headache seems to be getting worse and Bill gets the feeling that being in the middle of so many people isn’t helping. Every time he brushes against the person in the next seat, his brain </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurts </span>
  </em>
  <span>and little flashing lights pinwheel around his head. Maybe he should head to the hospital after this.</span>
</p><p>If getting here was a nightmare then lasting another half hour of class is torture. Bill doesn’t take in anything his professor is saying, but after the fiasco of the door and his following nosebleed, nobody seems inclined to pick on him for an answer. By the end of it he’s sweating like he just ran a marathon and people try their best to avoid him on the way out. He can’t blame them.</p><p>“Bill?” He hears his name distantly, a far away sound. He’s underwater and he’s drifting further and further below the surface. His eyes slip shut and he could just…</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>BILL ARE YOU OKAY?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>“Bill, are you okay?” The thought jolts Bill awake seconds before Mike says it out loud. He rubs his eyes blearily and forces himself to stay upright, to gape at Mike. “Bill? Jesus, you really don’t look so good.”</p><p>“M’fine,” Bill replies, still bitterly confused. Is he really going to admit to himself that he might be… what? Psychic? It doesn’t explain the email or the door or the nosebleed, but it explains why he can apparently know people’s thoughts without hearing them out loud. </p><p>“Are you sure?” </p><p>“Yeah,” he stands on shaky legs and pats Mike on the shoulder, the most gratitude he’s able to show. “I just need to– to go to sleep, I think. It’s been a really weird morning and I think I just need to sleep it off.”</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Should I take him to a hospital? What if he dies in his room?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>“I won’t,” Bill is saying before he realises his mistake. He freezes, and Mike freezes, and neither of them say anything else for another few moments. Bill’s pulse races and his chest constricts painfully; he shouldn’t be allowed out if he’s just going to creep people out and scare off the few friends he has.</p><p>“What?” Mike asks.</p><p>“Nothing,” Bill says quickly. Too quickly. “Listen, I’ve got to go. Talk later, okay?” It’s difficult to run away from someone when you can barely hobble, but thankfully Mike doesn’t chase after him. Bill makes it almost all the way back to his dorm before he stops, skin chilled cold. Someone is watching him.</p><p>It starts out as a creeping suspicion that grows and grows until the hair on the back of Bill’s neck stands on end and the damp surfaces of his eyes prickle with tears. Someone is definitely watching him.</p><p>He spins in a slow circle and his heart sinks when there’s no sign of anyone nearby. That doesn’t mean he’s crazy, Bill has learnt, it just means they’re hiding. He’s only a few minutes away from his dorm and Bill reckons he could scream loud enough to attract some attention if anyone decided to attack him, but he’s had a shitty day as it is. He’d rather not give them the chance.</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>around turn around turn</span>
  </em>
</p><p>The first tear spills over Bill’s cheek and drips from his chin. He was right - about hearing people’s thoughts, about someone watching him. They’re waiting for him to go on as normal so they can come out of hiding and do whatever they want to do. In his already weakened state, Bill has no hope of fighting them off.</p><p>Bill turns and runs. It’s a bad idea, he knows, because now his stalker will realise he knows and there will be no point in hiding anymore. They’ll just run, they’ll just chase him, and Bill suspects they’ll be faster than he is. All the same, he can’t just turn on his heel and meander back to his bedroom like nothing is wrong. </p><p>His heart is in his throat as he runs, the taste of blood still thick on his tongue. His feet slap loudly against the tarmac road and now he can definitely hear heavy footfalls behind him as well, can hear laboured breathing. Bill pushes himself harder and faster and he’s so close, he could just reach out and touch the building–</p><p>Something sharp pricks the side of his neck. Bill cries out, more surprised than hurt, but the area stings nonetheless. There’s a heavy presence behind him and then there’s a hand circling his wrists, pressing them together, leaving Bill defenceless. He feels slow and lethargic, more so than usual, and he realises with a cold unfurling dread that he has been drugged. </p><p>“Stop,” He says, but the word comes out breathless and pathetic. The person behind him laughs cruelly and Bill sobs, his body trembling. “Please.”</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up,” she hisses, and then a hand is covering his mouth and Bill can barely breathe. There’s an open courtyard just metres to their right and Bill is going to die here, hidden in the shadows down the side of the building with a stranger’s hand suffocating him. His sight blurs and darkness creeps in around the edge of his vision. He can’t die like this. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>OW YOU LITTLE FUCKING BITCH</span>
  </em>
</p><p>The woman shrieks as Bill’s teeth sink into the tender flesh between her thumb and her forefinger, and Bill feels her thought like a bullet to the back of the head. He slumps in her hold, still unable to move on his own, and his heart sinks when her only reaction is to grip him harder. She starts to haul his limp body further into the shrouded darkness of the alley and it feels pretty fucking ironic that he’s struggling to go towards the light. The numbness spreads from his limbs to his brain and suddenly it’s impossible to maintain even one coherent thought.</p><p>
  <span>“When I’m done with you, you won’t even–” She cuts off abruptly. One second Bill is in her arms being dragged around like a rag doll, the next his head is hitting the floor with a painful thump. There’s some scuffling and muffled cries but Bill is too sleepy to pay attention. His eyes slip closed without his permission and he thinks, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please let this all have been a dream.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>He’s vaguely aware of somebody else scooping him up, in the way that one might hear their alarm clock in their dreams. He can’t be sure what’s real and what isn’t, but this new person is warm and they smell good and, most importantly, they aren’t trying to kill him. Bill burrows closer into their chest and sighs, a soft fuzz descending over his brain. Bill is asleep before he can even consider the danger he might be in.</p><p>In what feels like the blink of an eye, Bill wakes up for the second time in tremendous pain. The area of his neck that was stabbed with a needle feels swollen and tender. His head aches and his temple stings where the skin must have split. His arms and legs feel heavy, deadweights that he can barely move to get out of bed.</p><p>
  <span>Which is something else he can’t quite figure out. He’s in bed - his own bed, in his own room - but </span>
  <em>
    <span>how? </span>
  </em>
  <span>His eyes fly open and he rises far too quickly, vision blurring with a sudden case of headrush. His heart thuds in his chest as he surveys the room and his gaze finally lands on what he expected to see.</span>
</p><p>There, in the corner of the room, is a stranger. This must be the person that saved him, if that is the right word, and then carried him into his dorm. Bill doesn’t want to think about the logistics of that - of how he knew Bill’s room number or got through the locked door - so instead he gulps and locks around for a makeshift weapon.</p><p>“You’re awake,” the man says, startling Bill. Hiding in the corner of the room like that, dressed all in black like some sort of ghoul, he easily blends into the shadows. Bill had been hoping he was asleep, but apparently nothing can work out for him today.</p><p>“Who are you?” He demands, but his voice wavers and betrays his anxiety. He doesn’t recognise this man, and Bill would definitely remember someone that looks like this. When he draws himself up to his full height, the stranger must be almost a head taller than Bill, with broad shoulders and an intimidating aura. He’s attractive but he’s terrifying, and Bill just wants a fucking explanation.</p><p>“You can call me Robert,” he says. Bill is grateful for the fact that he doesn’t move when he speaks. Bill’s phone is missing - probably cracked on the floor outside or hidden in Robert’s pocket - and he doesn’t fancy his odds of beating him in a fight. “And you’re Bill.”</p><p>“You already knew that.”</p><p>“Clearly,” Robert tilts his head like he’s considering Bill carefully. Then his face splits into a wolfish smile. “Don’t try getting in my head, either. You won’t be able to.” He taps his fingertips against some sort of earpiece he has in, as though that should have any meaning for Bill.</p><p>
  <span>“I wasn’t– wait, </span>
  <em>
    <span>what?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>It’s as though somebody just poured ice water down the back of his neck. Any ignorant deniability he could have had dies on Robert’s lips. Robert knows what he can do, probably more so than Bill does, and that most likely means the woman that attacked him earlier knew as well. How many more people know Bill’s secret? What </span>
  <em>
    <span>happened </span>
  </em>
  <span>to him?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tries concentrating on Robert’s mind, just to see if he’s right. Bill has no idea what he’s doing and it feels silly at first, feels futile to stare at someone until his face turns red with embarassment, but then something slides and shifts. Suddenly it’s less of a pointless exercise and more of a… meaningless one. Bill feels like he’s tugging at a locked door. He can’t get inside, but at least the door is there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill comes back to himself with a gasp. He feels sweaty and cold all over, body tingling. Robert is standing still, watching him with a fascinated expression and Bill doesn’t know what to make of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who are you?” Bill asks again, and this time he wants more than just a name. “What the f-fuck is going on?” He hasn’t stuttered in years. The slip-up has him wincing and biting the inside of his cheek to calm down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to explain everything to you,” Robert says. “But you’re going to need to stay quiet, and stay calm until I’ve finished. I know this might sound strange, but trust me, Bill. I’m the safest bet you’ve got.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill draws his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them, pressing his back to the wall. He feels anything but safe, and it’s obvious from the way he must look. For the first time since he stood up, Robert approaches Bill and takes a seat on the very edge of the bed. He’s close enough for Bill to see a dark bruise high up on his elegant cheekbone, but not so close as to panic him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me,” Bill says softly. Robert chuckles, and it feels mean even though he said he was Bill’s safest bet. Bill doesn’t feel safe at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, sweetheart,” Robert grins. “Where do I start?”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Somewhere between passing out last night and waking up this morning, Bill must have stepped into an episode of the Twilight Zone. The story Robert tells him next is not only confusing, it’s also so unrealistic that it can only be a work of fiction. </p><p>CIA secrets? Spies and government agents? Bill can’t have been sucked into some sort of action movie like Robert is suggesting - things like that just don’t happen.</p><p>Yet, there it is: the proof, all the evidence Bill needs. He stretches his mind like flexing an unused muscle and he can hear the low rumble of messy thoughts from his neighbour. He concentrates on the water bottle next to his bed and it starts to rattle. <em> Bill </em>is the proof, and he can’t deny himself. </p><p>“So, what?” Bill stands suddenly and paces the room. He’s still hurting all over from his experience earlier, but he can’t bear to just sit there and do nothing whilst his life is falling apart in front of him. “So I can hear people’s thoughts now? And I have superpowers? And I know all the CIA’s secrets? You’re telling me that I’ll just recognise criminals off the street now? What the <em> fuck!” </em></p><p>“You need to calm down,” Robert’s voice is quiet but firm, leaving no room for argument. When he stands up, Bill is reminded of how big, how intimidating he is. If the woman from earlier could bench press Bill with one hand and Robert could take her down without a problem, how easily could he hurt Bill?</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Bill snaps, not letting himself be cowed despite Robert’s threatening presence. “I get that stuff like this probably happens every day for you, but it’s kind of a big deal for me. Can you–”</p><p>“No,” Robert cuts him off, so abruptly and so firmly that Bill is stunned into silence.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“No, this doesn’t happen every day. You’re the only one. This was a test run of the intersect and somehow it was sent to <em> you </em>before anyone else could process it. Since it self destructed… you’re the only one that knows those secrets. That’s why I’m here.”</p><p>“The intersect,” Bill mouths the word, seeing how it feels. “That’s the thing inside my head?”</p><p>“Yes,”</p><p>“And I’m the only person that knows it? That can… do these things?”</p><p>“That’s why I’m here,” Robert repeats. “To keep you safe. I’m your handler– you’re my asset. I dealt with the agent out there but we can’t rule out the possibility that she told her colleagues. If she knew who you were already, other people probably know as well. Right now, you’re probably the most valuable person in the country. That means you’re in a lot of danger.”</p><p>Bill, with all the fight taken out of him, slumps down onto the bed. His legs feel like jelly, unable to hold him up anymore. “You mean there’s no way to get this thing out of my head?” He asks, horrified. Things like this just don’t happen to ordinary people– to people like Bill. He must be sleeping right now, and this is all just a messy fever dream. </p><p>“Not that we know of,” Robert says. “We have people working on it, but for now you’re going to have to stick with me. Like I said, I’m your best bet at safety.”</p><p>Bill drops his head into his hands. He was having a hard enough time getting by as a college student as it was, but now with the added pressure of superpowers and government secrets, he has no clue how he’s going to survive until graduation. Literally. </p><p>Robert sighs suddenly. He sits down next to Bill and pats his thigh in what is probably meant to be a reassuring gesture. Bill wonders when the last time Robert actually had a normal interaction with somebody was, because he touches Bill like he’s forgotten how he’s supposed to touch people. His hand is warm and his fingers spread wide over Bill’s leg; his touch lingers hesitantly for a moment before he removes it and clasps his hands in front of him.</p><p>“I get that you’re scared,” he says. Bill props himself up on his elbows just to watch Robert struggle through a heartfelt speech. “And I’m sorry. This isn’t… conventional. But my <em> job </em>is to keep you safe, and I’m exceptionally good at my job. As long as you stick with me and follow my orders, you’re going to be fine. You even get to work with the government for a little bit– isn’t that exciting?”</p><p>Bill drops onto his back again and bounces against the shitty dorm-room mattress. “No,” he says grumpily, even though it is kind of cool and he could brag about this for years if he didn’t have to keep it top secret. </p><p>“Fine then,” Robert rolls his eyes. He’s clearly had enough of Bill’s attitude, and most people give up when the person they’re consoling refuses to be consoled. “Keep on thinking this has ruined your life, it doesn’t really change anything. At the end of the day, you’ve only got two choices here Bill, and I think I know which one you’ll prefer.”</p><p>“What are you talking about?” Bill asks in a small voice. He has a feeling he isn’t going to like either of the choices he’s presented with, especially not when they’re coming from the special agent sitting on the end of his bed who just called Bill his ‘asset’.</p><p>“Either you cooperate, and you do what I tell you,” Robert says, and then his hand is back, landing on Bill’s leg a little higher up now. Bill doesn’t want to react to the contact, but Robert is frustratingly attractive and his hand is inches from Bill’s groin. </p><p>“Or?” Bill prompts, voice embarrassingly high.</p><p>“Or I tell my superiors that you aren’t going along with the cover and they move you to an underground facility where you won’t be able to contact any of your friends and family for years. You’ll be forced to work for the CIA until they can either remove the intersect from your head or make a new one. Either way, I don’t imagine you’ll enjoy your life there very much.” Robert leans down so that he can whisper his next words right into Bill’s ear. He rests his forearm next to Bill’s head on the mattress for balance. “I hear the meals are awful.”</p><p>“Okay, okay!” Bill cries, jerking his leg to get Robert to move. He feels cold without the touch, but his head is a little clearer, save for the static sound at the back of his mind. “I get it! I’ll cooperate, Jesus <em> fuck. </em>You make such a compelling case.”</p><p>Robert smiles in the face of Bill’s sarcasm. “Don’t get angry at me.” He shrugs. “I’m just the messenger. I’m here to keep you safe, remember? And all–”</p><p>“All I need to do is what you tell me, I know.” </p><p>“That’s right.” Robert nods. “I protect you, you protect the cover. Simple.”</p><p>Bill grunts - it sounds anything but simple - before his attention catches on Robert’s words. He frowns. It could be nothing, but Robert has said it twice now and he hasn’t explained what it means. Something tight and heavy wraps itself around Bill’s chest and for a moment he can’t seem to suck in enough air.</p><p>“What do you mean by cover?” Bill asks, sitting up. The sudden movement has him face to face with Robert, much closer than he intended, and his eyes flicker to Robert’s lips almost instinctively. When he gets no answer after a few silent seconds, he pushes further. “What do you <em> mean? </em>What’s our ‘cover’?”</p><p>Robert grins: the corner of his mouth quirks up and Bill wants to touch his stupid, pretty face. “Obviously,” Robert says. “I’m going to be your boyfriend.”</p><p>For all of one second, Bill’s head goes totally, blissfully quiet. The whisper of thoughts coming from all around seems to dull. He blinks. Then, “I’m sorry, <em> what </em>did you just say?”</p><p>“I’m going to have to be your boyfriend. Why else would I be hanging you all the time all of a sudden?” Robert tilts his head just a little, like he’s trying to look into Bill’s head. The irony is not lost on Bill.</p><p>“Uh, I don’t know.” He pulls himself to his feet and crosses the room, hands gesturing wildly. “How about my friend? My cousin? My fucking <em> roommate?” </em></p><p>“Your roommate that follows you to all your classes? Your cousin that has to sleep in the same room as you? I’m not sure people would really buy into that, Bill, how about you?”</p><p>“You have to sleep with me?” Bill takes a moment to realise what he’s said before his cheeks are flushing warm with embarrassment. “I mean– in here? You have to live with me now?”</p><p>Robert frowns and looks around. Bill, despite the chaos that his life has suddenly descended into, wants to reach out and cup Robert’s face in his hands. “God no,” he says, and Bill has a moment to feel relieved before Robert throws it back in his face. “I’m not living here. It’s tiny. You’ll have to move in with me. I’ve been given an apartment nearby– it’s nothing special, not compared to some of the places I’ve been, but it’s nicer than this. Bigger, too.” When Bill’s horrified silence stretches on a second too long, Robert tries again. “There are two beds, if that’s what you’re worried about. They’re in the same room but that’s just the way it has to be. The closer I am, the safer you are. That makes sense, doesn’t it? Of course if anyone comes to visit, we’ll have to make it seem like we just use one, but the easiest option would just be to avoid visitors. Maybe we’ll have your friend over for dinner, just to sell the story - what was his name? Mike?”</p><p>“How long have you been following me around? Jesus.” Compared to everything that’s been going on lately, this should be the least of Bill’s worries. “How do I know I can trust you, anyway? If I’m really in as much danger as you say I am, you could be someone just trying to use me.”</p><p>“I saved your life.” Robert points out.</p><p>“Not good enough,” Bill shrugs. “Unless you can somehow prove what you’re saying, you need to get out. Or I’ll call campus security.”</p><p>Robert snorts with laughter, but his smile falls when he sees how serious Bill is. He sighs. A muscle in his jaw tics. Bill watches in fascinated silence as Robert reaches up to his ear and removes the earpiece that supposedly protects his thoughts. Straight away, a jumbled mess of noise shocks Bill like a wave crashing over his head. It’s virtually impossible to pick out any distinctive word or phrase and it <em> hurts, </em>it’s too much and Bill feels the pressure like a clamp around his skull.</p><p>“Fuck,” Bill pants, doubling over and gasping for breath. “Stop.” It’s too much, too close. Everyone else had been diluted, muffled behind walls and doors. Robert is right here, right in front of him, and he claps his hands over his ears but it’s no use.</p><p>“Easy,” Robert’s hand is suddenly on him, smoothing over the curve of his back, settling on the nape of his neck. “Easy, Bill, focus. Close your eyes. Breathe. Just focus on my mind.” Bill squeezes his eyes shut tight like he’s hoping that will block out the deafening sound of other people’s thoughts. Robert’s hand on his neck is helping to ground him somewhat but it’s still far too intense. He feels a tickling wetness at his lip  and realises that his nose must be bleeding again.</p><p>“Fuck,” Robert mutters, and then presses his forehead to Bill’s. It’s like an explosion somewhere deep in his mind. One second there’s a jumble of crossed wires and knotted lines and the next he can hear Robert, hear his thoughts with such clarity and volume that he almost can’t believe they weren’t spoken out loud. It’s not just his words either, there are pictures: Bill’s file, a woman with red hair, Robert in uniform. He knows Robert is telling the truth because he can see the truth, laid out in front of him as though it’s been there the whole time.</p><p>Robert pulls away. Bill gasps and drops to his knees, head pounding. Robert sits back on his heels and keeps a firm grasp on the back of Bill’s neck; it’s strange, but a nice gesture all the same. Bill would probably thank him if he was capable of speaking.</p><p>“Alright?” Robert asks after a few agonising moments. “That was intense.”</p><p>Bill knows when Robert puts the earpiece back in, because the volume around him decreases immediately. It’s a relief, and he uses Robert’s shoulder to drag himself to his feet. The world stops spinning after a while. </p><p>“Bill,” Robert’s hand moves from the back of his neck to his throat, palm resting lightly over Bill’s Adam’s apple. The gentle pressure is comforting and nice, and Bill relaxes when Robert’s thumb brushes over his bottom lip. “Are you okay?”</p><p>“Okay,” Bill nods, inhales, swallows back the sting of tears. “I’m okay. I’m okay.”</p><p>“Good.” Robert’s voice is soft, as though he’s trying to make sure Bill is comfortable. “I’m sorry. I won’t do that again, but you wanted to see the truth so there you are.”</p><p>Bill has learnt his lesson. He doesn’t ever want to go through that again.</p><p>“Which reminds me,” Robert continues. Bill’s heart sinks. “We’re going to have to practice your powers.”</p><p>Fuck.</p><p>***</p><p>It turns out that actually moving things with his mind is a lot harder than reading other people’s thoughts. With his newfound telepathy, he simply has to be around someone and it’s as though they’re screaming their internal monologue at him. With telekinesis, it’s like trying to flex a muscle he doesn’t even have yet. Robert gets frustrated with him by the third try.</p><p>“You have to put effort into this,” he says, standing behind Bill in his long trench coat with the collar pulled up like a fucking serial killer. Bill is glad Robert chose such a secluded place to practise because if anybody saw them, they’d be suspicious in an instant.</p><p>He isn’t loving the smell, though. When Robert had said he knew the perfect place to go, somewhere nobody would disturb them, Bill was sort of hoping for more than a rubbish dump. It figures that he set his expectations too high. </p><p>“I <em> am </em>trying,” Bill insists. “What, you think I’m just messing around here? I want this to be over with as much as you do.”</p><p>Robert frowns. He’s hovering over Bill’s shoulder so close that Bill feels Robert’s little exhale of disappointment against his skin. “I don’t want this to be over with.” He says.</p><p>“Of course you don’t.” Bill mutters under his breath, rolling his eyes. Robert definitely hears him. </p><p>“Just focus entirely on what you want to move,” Robert rests his hands lightly on Bill’s shoulders. “And where you want it to go. Clear your head except for those two thoughts.”</p><p>“That’s kind of hard when you have everyone else’s thoughts in your head as well.” Maybe Bill is getting angry at the wrong person, but he can’t bite back his irritation. Is it so wrong to want a normal college experience, uninterrupted by government secrets or unsolicited superpowers? </p><p>It’s true, as well. Even here, miles from anyone else, Bill can still hear the faint static rumbling of people’s inner thoughts. It’s not as bad as when he was on campus, right in the middle of everything, but it still sucks.</p><p>“That’s why we’re doing this,” Robert tells him, squeezing Bill’s shoulders reassuringly. “To practise, so that you <em> can </em>cope with this. Listen, Bill - as far as I know, this isn’t going away any time soon, and I’m sure you’d prefer to live with it rather than have it control you. Am I right?”</p><p>Bill bites the inside of his cheek. Of course Robert is right, but Bill doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing it. Instead, he tries to take Robert’s advice. A few feet in front of him is a garbage can, empty save for a few wrappers. If Bill can just get it to hover a few inches above the ground then he’ll feel accomplished, like he managed something today, and maybe Robert will finally let him go home.</p><p>“Good, that’s good.” Robert says. Bill snaps to attention to see the can rattling a little, wobbling from side to side. He pushes a little harder and feels the pain in his head like an afterthought. Robert’s hand slips from his shoulder, down between his shoulder blades and then curls around his waist and Bill–</p><p>Bill startles. The bin flies up into the air as though it’s been ejected and falls back down to earth with a deafening crash. Bill flinches so hard that he loses his balance and stumbles back into Robert’s arms. His head is spinning and his cheeks flush warm when Robert wraps his arms around Bill but he’s not bleeding this time, and he counts that as a win. </p><p>When his ears stop ringing, he realises that Robert is speaking to him, murmuring, “It’s okay, you’re okay,” over and over again. Bill relaxes. He really needs a drink, or at the very least a caffeine fix.</p><p>“Fucking hell,” Bill gasps. “Did that really just happen?” The bin lying on its side, rolling slightly in the breeze, tells him that he didn’t imagine the whole thing. It’s still hard to believe. Robert chuckles behind him.</p><p>“Yep,” he says. “Imagine having that power, but being able to control it. That’s why we’re doing this, alright?”</p><p>Bill looks down at his feet, suddenly shy and embarrassed to meet Robert’s gaze. He remembers what Robert’s hand felt like curled around his waist, how his breath tickled Bill’s ear, and suddenly it’s a lot warmer than it was a few seconds ago. Bill <em> really </em>needs that drink.</p><p>“Hey,” Robert tilts Bill’s chin up, apparently not content to have silence be his answer. “I know that I’m pushing you, but I have to. I have to make sure that you’re safe, which means making sure you can protect yourself if I can’t. You understand that, don’t you?”</p><p>Bill gulps. Having Robert’s fingers so close to his lips has him imagining all sorts of things that aren’t appropriate for the time or place. “Yeah,” he says, quiet and resigned. “I get it.”</p><p>“Good,” Robert steps back, giving Bill room to breathe. Bill waits a moment longer before he follows him back to the car.</p><p>Bill gives him directions to the nearest cafe as soon as they get back on campus. He parked his car a little way away from Bill’s accommodation building and walked at Bill’s side, their hands clasped together. It’s unusual– Bill doesn’t think he’s held hands with anyone since his seventh grade girlfriend, and Robert is so intimidating that something so chaste and innocent feels odd. Bill insists that they stick to the shadows and Bill walks on the inside, half hidden behind Robert, so that he can at least try to avoid being seen by his peers. </p><p>“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Bill has to ask. Despite his newfound powers and Robert’s threatening presence, he can’t help but feel paranoid. If he really is in as much danger as Robert says he is, shouldn’t he try to avoid going out in public?</p><p>“You’ll be fine,” Robert’s hand squeezes Bill’s, just one, but Bill appreciates it all the same. “Most of these people want to take you for themselves rather than kill you– they won’t try anything in a public place.”</p><p>“Most of them?” Bill asks dubiously, but Robert is already holding the door open for him and stepping inside. Bill likes this cafe because it’s small and quiet, so it’s probably best to leave the secret agent talk to the bedroom.</p><p>“What do you want?” Robert asks. Bill, momentarily confused, wonders whether the possibility of a normal life is still on the cards. Then he sees Robert pulling his wallet out, and he’s glad he kept his mouth shut.</p><p>“Oh,” he says. “Um, you don’t have to– I mean, I can buy my own.”</p><p>“What are you talking about?” Robert grins. He runs his fingers through his hair and it falls back across his forehead almost immediately. Bill tries not to swoon. “I’m your boyfriend, remember? It’s my job to buy your coffee.”</p><p>“I thought it was your job to keep me alive.” Bill mutters.</p><p>“That too, but it’s just the coffee for now. What do you want?”</p><p>Bill scuffs his sneakers against the floor. “Mocha,” he says, and scowls at Robert’s smirk. “Shut up. It’s nice.”</p><p>Maybe Robert is going to come back with some smart retort, but a sudden thought resounds in Bill’s mind and he winces. Robert’s eyes fix on something just past Bill’s shoulder. </p><p>
  <em> Who the hell is that why is Bill– </em>
</p><p>“Bill?” Bill hears Mike’s voice in his head seconds before he hears it out loud, so it doesn’t take him by surprise. He spins on his heel with a frozen smile on his face, already anticipating the most awkward conversation imaginable.</p><p>“Mike!” Mike looks between Robert and Bill carefully. They’ve known each other for long enough that Bill knows Mike sees right through his fake enthusiasm. </p><p>
  <em> –looks scared why does he look scared who is this guy what is– </em>
</p><p>“Bill,” Robert’s arm over his shoulder makes Bill jump, and Mike picks up on it straight away. “Who’s your friend?”</p><p>“Mike Hanlon,” Mike doesn’t wait for Bill to introduce him– he sticks his hand out with a frosty smile, hostility coming off him in waves. “Nice to meet you. And you are?”</p><p>“Robert!” Bill interrupts. He can feel Robert tensing next to him for whatever reason, and he’d really prefer to do this himself. “Mike, this is Robert. He’s my… boyfriend.”</p><p>Mike blinks. <em> “Boyfriend?” </em></p><p><em> I fucking know, </em> Bill thinks. <em> Me too. </em></p><p>“Yeah,” Bill swallows nervously, nods, looks to Robert for any indication of how to continue. “He’s… it’s new. We’re keeping it lowkey.” This is not strictly true. Robert had been clear that they should tell as many people as possible, just so if anyone came looking their relationship would be common knowledge and therefore not suspicious. It turns out that any relationship Bill is in will be suspicious. </p><p>“Oh,” Mike nods, awkward now. “Well, it’s nice to meet you Robert. Bill, I just wanted to check that you were okay. You didn’t look so good in the lecture earlier today. Are you alright?”</p><p>“Yeah! Totally.” Honestly, this morning feels like a lifetime ago. Bill had completely forgotten about how weird he must have seemed in class. “I think I was just coming down with something, y’know?”</p><p>“Yeah, he’s okay.” Robert is there again, handing Bill the mocha and pressing the back of his hand against Bill’s forehead. “You should still lie down though, make sure you’re alright. It’s been a long day - you’ve had enough drama, don’t you think?”</p><p><em> If looks could kill, </em>Bill thinks, glowering at Robert. Robert just seems amused.</p><p>“Right, well I’ll let you go.” Mike bypasses Robert to approach the counter. “I’m glad you’re okay, anyway, Bill. Maybe see you in class tomorrow?”</p><p>“For sure,” Bill grins. As soon as they’re out of earshot, and turns on Robert and hisses, “What the fuck was that? You’re supposed to be <em> friendly.” </em></p><p>“That was me being friendly!” Robert defends himself, but he’s laughing so he’s definitely not sorry. “I think it went well. Gosh– I’ve got myself a boyfriend and met the friends all on the same day. Haven’t I been busy?”</p><p>Bill catches Robert in the side with his elbow and is considering stepping on his toes for good measure when something catches his eye– or rather, someone. He frowns, trying to place where he knows them from; out of nowhere, he feels lightheaded and shaky. The drink slips from between his fingers and spills all over the sidewalk. Images fill Bill’s head all over again, just like they had earlier in his dorm room. He can’t understand any of them: they’re violent and scary and it’s over almost immediately, but the memories remain. Bill blinks the images away and realises that sometime during that whole episode, he must have grabbed Robert’s sleeve for support. When he looks around, the man he had recognised is gone.</p><p>“Shit,” Robert says bluntly. “Now you really need to lie down.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Let me know what you think, or come find me on tumblr @tiigixox! &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Robert’s apartment is really fucking awesome. Bill feels out of place here, looking around at the expensive furnishings and the fluffy carpets, dressed in a hoodie and an old pair of sneakers. Robert doesn’t even seem to fit in here himself - the way he moves about, the way he looks amongst all this luxury, makes it seem as though he doesn’t belong here. Bill wonders if he’s right about that, or if Robert has to move around so much for work that he just doesn’t seem to belong anywhere. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That would be a sad way to live, Bill thinks, never being able to find a home. He knows his shitty dorm room doesn’t look like much, but he’s grown fond of it and he’d be sad to say goodbye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit,” Bill says, turning in a slow circle just to take everything in. “You think the g-government would set me up with a p-place like this if I asked?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robert scoffs. “I think they’d be more likely to kill you, buddy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill doesn’t know what to say to that. He follows Robert down the hall and into the living room, yet another area filled with ornate furniture and an expensive looking chandelier. Bill stifles his awe and takes a seat on the sofa– leather, of course, stretching almost from one side of the room to the other. Why the fuck does Robert need a place like this? It looks barely lived in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Robert heads towards a cabinet on the other side of the room. “Are you feeling okay? Do you need a drink? Maybe you should lie down.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Bill frowns, confused by Robert’s concern. “No, I’m fine.” He watches as Robert opens the cabinet door to reveal a safe. Once the code has been entered the door pops open and Robert takes out a laptop– whatever is on there, Bill realises, must be top fucking secret.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” Robert doesn’t take his eyes off the screen. “But if you start to feel light headed then you’re going to sleep, and that’s final.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill swallows back the indignant retort that comes to mind; he kicks off his shoes so that he doesn’t get the couch messy and then curls his legs up underneath him. “What was that?” He asks. “That happened just then– what did I see?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s what I was going to ask you.” Robert meets Bill’s gaze for the first time. “You flashed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill sits up, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. “I’m sorry– what? I did what now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robert snorts. “You flashed. The intersect is inside your head now. You recognised someone so you flashed on them. Now– I need you to tell me exactly what you saw. Do you think you can do that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill has no idea. He only got a quick glimpse of the guy in real life as well as in his mind and trying to bring those images to the forefront of his brain again feels like trying to reach an itch he can’t scratch. He doesn’t want to let Robert down - especially since that would also mean letting the government down and possibly contributing to a plot of treason - but it isn’t like he can pull a memory out of thin air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One thing does spring to mind though, when he thinks back: a name like a whisper caught in the wind. If he can give Robert at least one thing, maybe he’s done his national duty for the day and he can just go home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bowers,” Bill says, frowning. Despite the struggle to remember, saying it outloud feels like a relief. “Henry Bowers. That was his name.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t remember anything else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill thinks hard. Then, “I’m pretty sure he had a mullet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robert sighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen, I’m sorry, okay?” Bill stands up and starts to pace. He doesn't know why the thought of disappointing Robert makes him so upset when he’s only known the man for a day, but he knows it’s obvious in the way his voice trembles. “I’m trying. I swear that I’m trying. It’s just– </span>
  <em>
    <span>remembering, </span>
  </em>
  <span>it feels like someone’s poking my brain or something and I just can’t–”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robert steps in front of Bill suddenly and rests his hands on his shoulders, thumb brushing the dip down to Bill’s collarbone. He smiles, and even though it’s thin and strained, Bill knows he means it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re trying,” Robert says quietly, reaching to cup the back of Bill’s neck. “I know you’re trying. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pressure you.” He plays with Bill’s hair and when he frowns, a little furrow appears in between his eyebrows. “I mean, this is kind of a serious situation and if you can’t help us out here the CIA will probably have you moved to an underground facility so they can train you themselves, but that’s beside the point.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill blinks. “Is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re doing great, Bill,” Robert says, nodding as though that will make him any more believable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Bill says. “I think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robert continues. “And now we have a name. We can run it through the system, see if you recognise anyone– how does that sound?” He steps away from Bill and heads over to his laptop again, tapping in a few lines of code that mean nothing to Bill. Honestly, Bill kind of misses Robert’s warmth. The gentle pressure of his hand on the back of Bill’s neck might be the most intimate thing Bill has had happen to him in months. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um, sure,” Bill says, joining Robert. He sinks down onto the floor at Robert’s feet rather than try to stuff himself into the chair next to him. From here, he can see the laptop screen pop up with a search bar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bowers, right?” Robert asks, fingers hovering over the keys. “How are you spelling Bowers?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, here, let me do it.” Bill tries to nudge Robert’s hands out of the way to type in the name himself. Robert hesitates, and his fingers brush the back of Bill’s palm as it hangs in midair, frozen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” he says eventually, but his voice sounds tight and unhappy. Bill shifts uncomfortably - has he done something to piss Robert off? He didn’t mean to… he was just trying to help. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unless this isn’t just about the laptop. Maybe Robert has been lying to him and his colleagues are actually on their way right now to move Bill to that underground facility Robert keeps talking about. Or, another theory, maybe he isn’t even one of the good guys, and he was sent here to find out how much Bill knows. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Or maybe,</span>
  </em>
  <span> the more rational part of Bill’s brain insists, </span>
  <em>
    <span>he just doesn’t fucking like you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Without Bill even noticing, the table starts to vibrate. An abandoned glass of water balancing right on the edge jolts suddenly and tips over, heading for the carpeted floor. Bill reaches out as though he’s moving to grab it, but instead his fingers stop inches away from the glass as it freezes in midair, the water spilling out over the edge suspended there like slow motion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill has a brief moment to admire what he’s done - what he’s able to do - before he’s yanking his arm back with a loud exclamation of, “What the fuck?” The glass drops to the floor and the water seeps into the carpet like nothing out of the ordinary ever happened. Robert, previously silent and watchful, leans forward to brush his fingers through Bill’s hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Easy,” he says. “Everything alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill is quiet for a beat. He’s still trying to process everything - to make sense of it in his head, even though that’s impossible - but he still manages to appreciate the pleasant feeling of Robert’s nails scratching over his scalp. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, very quietly, he says, “I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robert’s fingers stop, and then slowly continue. “Why are you sorry, huh?” He asks in the same way you might comfort a crying child. Bill feels resentment crawl up his throat like vomit and he swallows it down. This isn’t Robert’s fault, he reminds himself, and he can’t take his anger out on the wrong person. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry about your carpet,” Bill says eventually.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not mine. Besides, it’s only water. What’s this really about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill wipes his eyes surreptitiously on his sleeve. “Nothing,” he says. “I just hate spilling drinks.” Bill can tell that Robert is gearing up for another question, maybe even an emotional speech this time, and he just wants to avoid that at all costs. He hits the search bar on the keyboard and watches as the program runs the name.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Henry Bowers,” Bill exclaims, trying to hide the quiver in his voice with faux enthusiasm. “Look– here! History of assault. Past charges of possession and antisocial behaviour. He seems like the kind of guy I’d flash on, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robert narrows his eyes and leans closer to the screen, so that his chin practically rests on Bill’s head. “Someone in the database for petty crimes? Not really,” he says bluntly. “But if you recognise him…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do,” Bill says assuredly. “Mullet guy. That’s him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robert takes the laptop from Bill and crosses to the other side of the room. Bill stays where he is - he wants to know what happens next, and perhaps more importantly why Robert needs to hide it from him, but he’s hesitant to interrupt. He should probably just stay calm and avoid destroying anything else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To pass the time Bill pulls out his phone and checks his notifications. He has a couple emails from his professor, a text from his mom about Georgie’s birthday coming up and a string of missed messages from Mike.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hey Bill, just wanted to say sorry if it was awkward earlier. I’d love to hear more about your new bf!!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hope you’re feeling better btw</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh also!! Sorry to spam but I just wanted to let you know there’s a party at Richie’s tonight if you’re interested. He says ‘get together’ but if you come after nine you can bring your bf and he’ll be too wasted to notice lol</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Shit, Bill has been acting so weird lately that even his friends have started to respond similarly. He could ignore Mike, or feed him another bullshit story about feeling too ill to go out, but after everything that’s happened Bill </span>
  <em>
    <span>wants </span>
  </em>
  <span>to go to a party. He wants the normality of it all, being able to get drunk and listen to obnoxious dance music with his friends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doubts Robert would let him go. He made that whole speech about them needing to stick together for Bill’s own safety, and considering more people have tried to kill him in the past twenty-four hours than they have in his whole life, Bill is inclined to believe Robert on that front. Still…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, uh, Robert?” Bill says tentatively. Robert doesn’t look up, but he hums in acknowledgement. “I was thinking about this Bowers guy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s up?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, don’t you think it’s weird that he’s on campus? I was just thinking, maybe he’s up to something. Like… he’s a dealer, maybe?” Bill isn’t technically lying. For all he knows, Bowers is selling to kids on campus. In that case, he probably </span>
  <em>
    <span>would </span>
  </em>
  <span>show up to Richie’s party. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robert hesitates for the first time and half turns to face Bill. “What are you getting at?” He asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Bill says. “There’s this party tonight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robert’s face falls. “No,” he says. “Absolutely not. I grew out of college parties a long time ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, come on! What if he’s there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The chances are slim, don’t you think?” Robert says with a sarcastic smile. He’s got a point, but Bill still wants to go to that party.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was you that said we had to act like a couple in the first place!” Bill is not sulking. If anyone asks, he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>sulking. Robert is just being mean. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I said we have to make people </span>
  <em>
    <span>think </span>
  </em>
  <span>we’re a couple.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what better place to do that than a college party? Literally all my friends will be there. Mike specifically said to invite you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robert looks up again. Something like irritation flits across his face but it’s gone too quickly Bill to be certain. “Mike?” Robert asks, finally closing the laptop and pushing it away. Bill has all of his attention now, and it feels intense in a way he hadn’t anticipated. He’s reminded of the way Robert’s hands feel on his skin and his cheeks flush warm, embarrassed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Bill mutters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a pause. Bill tries to think of a way to dismiss the whole thing without sounding bitter or childish. Then, out of nowhere, Robert says, “Okay. Let’s go to a party.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill never thought he’d meet someone that hated parties. They sucked when he was in high school and admittedly not much has changed about them since then, but maybe Bill was just a lonely teenager back in those days. College parties, whilst they follow the same formula of getting drunk and passing out, seem much more entertaining.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robert, however, really fucking hates parties. Bill doesn’t even need to ask to see how reluctant he is to go, and it makes Bill wonder why he agreed in the first place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We don’t have to stay long,” Bill says, trying to offer a solution. It doesn’t seem to work– Robert doesn’t reply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know the rules?” He asks, for the fourth time since they left his apartment.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yes.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Bill groans. “Don’t talk to strangers, don’t get drunk and don’t leave your side.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh huh,” Robert says. Before Bill realises what’s happening, Robert slips his arm through Bill’s and tugs him closer, so that they’re shoulder to shoulder. Bill’s eyes widen - he’s about to ask what Robert is doing, when he catches sight of a group of students heading down the street towards them. They’re drunk and hardly paying attention to Bill or Robert, but Robert is probably just covering all their bases.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Smart, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Bill thinks, and ignores the tug at his heart. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Nothing gets past this guy.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” Bill draws the word out. “Why don’t you like parties?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t not like parties.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t seem that enthusiastic about this one,” Bill points out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That doesn’t mean I don’t like parties,” Robert snaps. “It just means I’m not all that happy about having to chaperone a dumb college student to a dumb college party where people think the height of entertainment is throwing up on each other.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill swallows. That felt needlessly aggressive; Bill doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>care </span>
  </em>
  <span>that Robert called him dumb and thinks all his friends are losers, but he didn’t have to say it like that. He slips his hand out of his pocket and tries to disentangle his arm from Robert’s, but Robert sighs at the last minute and holds on, not letting him go. Even through the many layers of fabric, his fingers feel like a brand around Bill’s arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” he says. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I didn’t mean any of that. It’s… possible that I don’t like parties.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” Whatever. Bill can never hold a grudge anyway. “Are you– I mean, were you, like, bullied or something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus, we really don’t have to do this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do what?” Bill frowns.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get to know each other, or whatever it is you’re trying to do. This is a </span>
  <em>
    <span>fake </span>
  </em>
  <span>relationship, Bill. If anyone asks, our parents are friends and that’s how we met. That’s all anybody needs to know, okay? And what you know about me already? That’s all </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>need to know.” Robert delivers the words gently, even though what he’s saying feels like a slap in the face. Fuck this guy. Bill </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows </span>
  </em>
  <span>they aren’t really dating. So what if Robert is unfairly attractive and mysterious? He was just trying to be friendly, but he’ll know better than to do that from now on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” he says, relieved when Richie’s front door comes into view. “Whatever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not only is the music deafeningly loud here, but Bill can hear everyone’s thoughts like one layer on top of another. He winces despite himself, and Robert pauses.</span>
</p><p>“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” He asks, fingers brushing Bill’s forehead so tenderly that Bill could cry. Is he just putting on a facade so that people will see him being a good boyfriend, or does he actually care? After that whole dramatic speech, Bill can’t tell.</p><p>“Sure,” Bill says, though his voice is raspy. “I’m gonna be–”</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>looks like thirty why is Bill hanging out with–</span>
  </em>
</p><p>“Fine?” Robert finishes doubtfully. </p><p>They’re interrupted by Mike heading across the lawn towards him. He has Richie’s arm slung over his shoulder and he’s practically dragging him across the floor. Richie’s drunken thoughts feel like they’ve been yelled into a megaphone right next to Bill’s ear.</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KIND OF CREEPY BUT HOT I STILL WOULD–</span>
  </em>
</p><p>“Mike!” Bill greets him, putting on what he hopes is a convincing happy face. “How are you? Thanks for letting me know about this. It looks cool.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Robert smiles thinly beside him. His hand slips into Bill’s andhe intertwines their fingers. “Really cool.”</p><p>“Thanks, man,” Mike smiles. “But really you should be thanking Richie. He’s the one that lets strangers trash his house once a month.”</p><p>“So, you guys don’t really know who shows up to these things?” Robert prompts Mike to continue, and when he doesn’t Robert tenses. Bill can feel it in the way their sides press together. “You ever get many non-students here? I think I saw someone dealing back there, but I couldn’t be sure.”</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>JESUS IS THIS GUY A NARC?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>Bill almost laughs out loud at Richie’s thought process. He’s not necessarily wrong, but he also couldn’t be further from the truth.</p><p>Mike looks between them, confused, before he replies. “Uh, yeah, I mean sometimes we get people show up that we don’t know.” He crosses his arms defensively. “It’s actually more common than you might think.”</p><p>Shit, Bill should diffuse this situation before it gets any more hostile.</p><p>“Well, anyway!” Bill claps his hands, and then cringes. Why did he think that was a good idea? “Who wants a drink? Robert, do you want a drink? I’m gonna go get us a beer.”</p><p>Robert hums noncommittally, and then a moment later says, “Wait, no. We’re not– uh, babe, we’re not drinking tonight, remember?”</p><p>“You came to a party when you’re not going to drink?” Mike frowns. </p><p>“We have plans tomorrow.”</p><p>“I’m sure Bill can make up his own mind, either way.”</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>controlling prick–</span>
  </em>
</p><p>They both turn to face Bill, who feels more than a little out of his depth. He’s still happy to be here, but part of him wishes they’d just stayed at home. Or, Bill corrects himself, at Robert’s apartment, because he can’t go home anymore, for fear of being literally murdered. Christ, he needs that drink. Maybe even something stronger.</p><p>“Hey, so, I’ve been kind of stressed lately,” Bill says, avoiding Robert’s eye. “Could either of you hook me up with something. I’d really like to be able to relax, just for tonight, y’know?”</p><p>“Oh,” Richie speaks for the first time since they arrived. “You want Vic and Belch for that! They’re real nice– they’ll even slip you a little something extra if Henry isn’t looking.”</p><p>“Are they inside?” Bill asks, even as Richie’s mind moves with flashing images. Vic and Belch, Bill assumes, inside, upstairs, alone. Henry isn’t here– at least, not with them.</p><p>
  <span>Bill </span>
  <em>
    <span>could </span>
  </em>
  <span>tell Robert, but then he’d probably want them to leave. They’ve made an appearance, said hello to a couple of Bill’s friends. What more do they have to do, right?</span>
</p><p>But… Bill doesn’t want to go just yet. </p><p>“Awesome!” He says, as innocent as he can manage. “Thanks for the tip. See you round!” Bill reaches out for Robert and grabs his hand before he can think about it properly, dragging the man towards the front door and through the throng of people throwing up outside. Robert stumbles along after him.</p><p>The atmosphere inside the house is even more intense. The music is louder, the crowds are bigger and the smell is way worse. There are red cups littered all over the floors and surfaces and empty pizza boxes abandoned halfway up the stairs. Bill briefly mourns that loss - he’s actually really hungry and he hadn’t even realised until now what with everything going on - but that’s just the price you pay when you turn up after a party has peaked.</p><p>“Bill, what are we doing?” Bill doesn’t hear him the first time, so Robert has to lean in close to shout into Bill’s ear. Maybe Bill is losing his mind a little bit, but he swears he can feel Robert’s lips brush his skin. </p><p>“It’s a party!” Bill yells back. There are so many people here that their thoughts are impossible to distinguish between. The noise just rises above the music like another buzzing layer that Bill can push to the back of his mind.</p><p>“You know I’m not actually your babysitter, right? I’m your handler. I have better things to be doing than following you round a frat party.”</p><p>“Richie’s not in a frat!”</p><p>“I feel like you’re deliberately missing the point here, Bill.”</p><p>
  <span>Bill rolls his eyes. “Loosen up! Have a drink.” At Robert’s glare, Bill backtracks a little. “Or not, that’s okay too. At least </span>
  <em>
    <span>try </span>
  </em>
  <span>and have some fun? Dance or something.”</span>
</p><p>“You want me to dance?”</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I </span>
  </em>
  <span>want to dance.”</span>
</p><p>“I’m not dancing with you.”</p><p>“My boyfriend would totally dance with me.” Bill grins. Despite his earlier complaints, Robert doesn’t try to pull away when Bill tugs him towards the makeshift dance floor. He hadn’t even realised they were still holding hands.</p><p>“You’re coping well,” Robert says, having to stoop to speak straight into Bill’s ear. To Bill’s delight, Robert is awkward on the dance floor, limbs too gangly and long for his movements to be graceful. Bill watches him with a dumb, dopey smile.</p><p>“It’s not so bad now,” he replies. “At least, it’s getting better. Everyone’s thinking all at once, so it just feels like one big thought, y’know?”</p><p>Robert smiles, bemused. “Not really,” he says, and lifts a hand to stroke the curve of Bill’s cheekbone. </p><p>Out of the corner of his eye, Bill spots a group of people on the other side of the room. He recognises some of them as fellow students, a few he’s been in lectures with or spoken to briefly at parties, but most of them are strangers. One of them in particular, the one standing just in front of the others, is watching Bill and Robert dance with intense concentration. Her stare sends a shiver down Bill’s spine.</p><p>What if she’s another agent? What if she’s here to kill him? It was Bill’s idea to come to the party and now he’s put both Robert and himself in danger– great.</p><p>He closes his eyes and buries his face in Robert’s chest. Robert tenses as though surprised, and Bill can feel in the way he moves that he’s looking around, like he’s searching for an explanation. Really, Bill just needs to concentrate.</p><p>He pictures the girl’s face in his mind, and pictures himself reaching out to her. It feels a little like a bubble - one that previously only carried Bill - stretching out to incorporate her as well. The thumping of the music sims and even the buzzing of other people’s thoughts quieten. It’s just Bill and this girl, alone in a bubble.</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>-so fucking hot why do all the hot ones have to be gay? He could definitely–</span>
  </em>
</p><p>Bill pops the bubble as soon as he realises what’s going on. Jesus. He doesn’t need to worry about getting killed tonight, but maybe Robert ought to be worried about getting jumped. Bill sneaks another look up at him. He can’t exactly blame her - Robert is fucking gorgeous, even though he dresses like he’s in a cult and acts smug sometimes. He can be nice as well. He was sweet earlier on, and he was sweet when he comforted Bill about the carpet. Plus, he has technically saved Bill’s life. That has to count for something.</p><p>“What?” Robert frowns down at him, and Bill remembers that it’s socially unacceptable to stare at people for long periods of time, even if that person is painfully attractive. </p><p>“She wants to fuck you.” Bill doesn’t know why he says it. The words just seem to come flying out of his mouth before he’s even thought about them.</p><p>“What?” Robert blinks, taken aback. He isn’t blushing like Bill would be, but at least he’s not acting like it’s an everyday occurrence.</p><p>“The girl over there,” Bill explains, albeit poorly. “I thought she was going to kill us, but she actually just thinks you're hot.”</p><p>
  <span>Robert frowns. “You heard her?” Of course </span>
  <em>
    <span>that’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> what he chooses to focus on. “I thought you said it was like one big noise.”</span>
</p><p>“I focused.” Bill shrugs. “It was like… turning the volume up.”</p><p>Robert is silent for a long time. He’s not so much dancing now as he is just moving in time with Bill, one hand curling around Bill’s waist and the other resting on the small of his back. So what if Bill is maybe pressed a little bit closer to Robert, a little more possessive. Unless anyone else can read minds, no one can say it’s because of that girl.</p><p>“She’s still looking at us,” Bill says after a while, his cheek pressed to Robert’s chest so he can watch the girl watch them. Bill feels Robert chuckle in the rumble of his chest.</p><p>“Then let’s give her a show, hmm?” Robert tilts Bill’s chin up with his pointer finger. Bill can barely breathe as Robert ducks his head. Their mouths are only inches apart, so close that Bill can feel Robert’s breath on his lips.</p><p>“What…” he starts to say, and then Robert is kissing him.</p><p>It’s slow and soft and sweet. Robert’s tongue licks over Bill’s and he tastes so sweet, so addictive. It’s maddening, the gentle rhythm he’s set up; Bill wants so badly for more, for Robert to kiss him harder, deeper, for him to demand more.</p><p>And then, before Bill can get a good grip on Robert’s neck to pull him closer, Robert pulls away. His lips are shiny with Bill’s spit, and Bill can still taste him on his tongue. He grins conspiratorially.</p><p>“You think that sold it?” He asks, still smiling. Bill’s heart sinks. </p><p>Of course. The lie: their relationship.</p><p>“Yeah,” he says weakly, glad that Robert can’t tell what’s going on inside his head right now. “I think we s-sold it.”</p><p>Fuck Robert’s rules, Bill decides. He’s definitely getting wasted tonight. </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Let me know what you think! &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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